


Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Review: On Love, Friendship and Bravery

by Pie (potteresque_ire)



Series: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child: Meta & Reviews [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Spoilers, Meta, Other, Reviews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:03:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7857403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potteresque_ire/pseuds/Pie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meta / Review of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (rehearsal script), written in August, 2016, focusing on how the character developments of the Potters and Malfoys further drive home the themes of love, friendship and bravery from the seven books.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Review: On Love, Friendship and Bravery

I shall, perhaps, start with this quote:

> **“Harry, there is never a perfect answer in this messy, emotional world. Perfection is beyond the reach of humankind, beyond the reach of magic. In every shining moment of happiness is that drop of poison: the knowledge that pain will come again. Be honest to those you love, show your pain. To suffer is as human as to breathe.”**
> 
> **—Dumbledore**

My feeling about HPatCC is that it is as much for the “Harry generation” who grew up with Harry as it is for older generations, who have spent as much time as Harry and co. being grown ups, are likely to have children of their own and have seen friendships—every kind of personal connection, for that matter—evolve with time, eroded by it and found in the unlikeliest of when’s and where’s. It shares the themes of love, friendship and bravery with the books, but their expressions are far subtler and, as alluded in the quote above, far messier and less than perfect. There’s no longer a clear villain hated by everyone, a tangible adversity against which bravery got to shine (Delphi didn’t reveal her true colors until the very end, and she was no Voldemort). Instead, the bravery called for in this story remained deep within, found in the search for and conquest of one’s own demons and then, the acceptance and courage to show his battle scars. Love was about sacrifice, care and protection as always, but it’s also about empathizing with and respecting other people’s needs, even if it meant letting go, even if it meant letting our loved ones meet life on their own and get hurt along the way. These struggles on love and bravery are perhaps less magical, less uplifting to read about, but they’re so very relatable, the pains that are so deeply hidden, from circumstances so individualized that it felt like no one else could feel or understand them — the brutal, endless army charging against a lone, exhausted defender known and cared about by no one. HPatCC showed us that even these personal battles needed not be fought alone, that if we cared to look, if we cared to see other people’s pains and let them see our own, we’ll often find a common vein running through them and we could fight them as one, and share our wisdom on how to do so. The three fathers in HPatCC who confessed their failures in parenthood—Harry, Draco, and Dumbledore (with Harry as surrogate son)—each have their unique background and hardship with their sons, and yet towards the end, they realized one thing had connected them all:

> **“Love blinds. We have both tried to give our sons, not what they needed, but what we needed. We’ve been so busy trying to rewrite our own pasts, we’ve blighted their present.”**
> 
> **—Harry**

 

The best hope to find the perfect answer on how to rise above these struggles—how to rise above ourselves—is to keep searching, with big hearts open wide and with hands to hold.

Especially hands to hold. It’s the journey itself, perhaps, that supplied the closest-to-perfect answer in the never-perfect-world. Albus and Scorpius held hands throughout the story. As teenagers, their expressions of love and bravery echoed strongly those from the books even if their enemies lived largely within. And just like the trio, they complemented each other and made each other stronger. Scorpius was far more mature emotionally than Albus, but also more resigned to fate. Behind the easy-going, appreciative-of-every-small-thing happiness was a deep-seated pessimism that good things couldn’t possibly happen to him, such as his certainty that “some sort of tragedy would have befallen” Hogwarts. It could be genetics at work: his dad, too, seemed to have trouble accepting the existence of good things—the good things Astoria said were inside him; he talked about himself as the Darkness to Astoria’s Light. Meanwhile, Albus couldn’t have survived emotionally without Scorpius, who he believed offered his one identity distinct from his father’s. He had yet to gain the maturity to see that he’d done most of the caging of himself in Harry’s legacy; other Hogwarts contributed largely by feeding on his insecurity while his dad had, at his worst, made the cage appear more gilded than it really was. But Albus had one shining, glorious attribute: the word “resignation” simply did not exist in his dictionary. He possessed—genetics at work again—a fierce optimism that with sufficient willpower and action things would turn around, and he did make it happen with Scorpius, who passed the “test” he wouldn’t have met without Albus leading him there (the wider world turned for the worse, but that’s another point).

> **“That’s the thing, isn’t it? About friendships. You don’t know what he needs. You only know he needs it. Find him, Scorpius. You two — you belong together.”**
> 
> **—Delphi**

Albus and Scorpius did belong together, as all great friends do—connected by brain, nerves and their bounding hearts.

 

Then, the characters who I’ve held so dear to my heart. Harry, Hermione and Ron had held hands through all seven books. In Alternative Reality #1, we got to see what happened to them when those connections were in peril, when big hearts threatened to close off. Ron and Hermione’s link was broken because Ron’s marriage to Padma went against their continued (and ill-concealed) longing for each other. The staircase conversation was painful to watch. A romantic bond wasn’t pre-requisite for friendship, but being themselves around each other was and they’d lost that. “Friend” became a sensitive, painful word. A sin, almost. As a result, all three in the trio were worse off. Hermione turned bitter—not quite the “psychopath” as Albus described, but she bore a strong resemblance to Snape, whose heart’s deepest yearning had also been shunted, whose intelligence was also sharp like a cold blade if without a heart to warm it up. Ron lost his joy and worst, his freedom to act from his heart. Harry’ objective life appeared unchanged, but something was apparently out of place when he forced the decision to separate Albus and Scorpius: 

> **_“GINNY looks at HARRY, surprised that he’d talk to her that way.”_ **
> 
> **_“GINNY looks at HARRY, unsure of what he’s become. He doesn’t look back.”_ **

Perhaps, Harry devalued friendship in this alternate reality because, under the immense stress and guilt tearing him apart, he was reminded of the closest friendship around him that had eroded with time, by a life event as mundane, though beautiful, as marriage. Why risk Albus’ life when his friendship with Scorpius could fade then, like Ron and Hermione’s? Harry’s heart had shrunk because of the broken link—still big enough for day-to-day events, perhaps (he’s Harry after all), but no longer enough when the ultimate challenge arose, when he was faced with the possibility that the villain who had so haunted him—not with who he’d been but the blood spilled for Harry as a consequence—would come for his son. In turn, Albus and Scorpius suffered more from it than what physical wounds could inflict. If friendship were a network of held hands, a fabric of fingers knitted together that is stronger than the sum of its parts, a small tear can, too, rip a big piece apart.

 

Draco, meanwhile, entered as someone who’d sustained considerable time beyond childhood with no hands to hold. That he owned the voice who brought Harry to reason was in no small part due to his finding the courage to expose his scars to Harry—who he’d just had a kitchen duel with minutes ago and insisted was a curse to the Malfoys earlier. We knew this courage came from Astoria, who’d opened Draco’s heart, placed inside a light so bright that it shone even in the Dark Alternative Reality #2, and gifted Draco with a life-long hand to hold via Scorpius. In yet another contrast to Harry, Draco had not had the comfort of knowing a hand would always be there for him to hold since his teenage years (Harry found his then). Scorpius was a first for him in that sense, a promise of permanent love that he was ill-equipped to deal with especially with the pre-mature loss of Astoria. His appeal to Harry to let Albus and Scorpius see one another was restricted to the power of friendship-at-the-moment, for he knew little further than that. Like Harry in Alternative Reality #1, his experience had probably led him to devalue friendship too, by not permitting Scorpius to spend Christmas with the Potters after Astoria’s death and insisting, instead, that Harry cleared the parentage rumor. Yet, while it was exceptionally lonely, being Draco Malfoy, he stubbornly, beautifully retained his ability to reach out, to keep looking for the hand that would hold his own—the hand that could lift him up via friendship; the hand that could possibly save him, from a Fiendfyre a long time ago and eventually from himself. He found Astoria and defied his father for her hand. In HPatCC, he once again offered his hand for Harry to hold, as he had when they’re eleven, by baring his scars and revealing to Harry the dark, broken helplessness he’d found himself in as a teenager. Harry’s reciprocation came this time—several acts later but true to Harry’s nature, he held nothing back. He offered “a tour” of his office for Draco while still “consumed in grief” after his conversation with Dumbledore. I’d imagine the tour was as much about the office as Harry’s own scars, which he let display to Draco with his tears. That the things in his office were messy and oft ignored was perhaps also a metaphor of how Harry had dealt with his scars from childhood and the war. The office was Harry’s heart too, it was wide open for Draco then and he was able to “understand Draco perfectly” when Draco explained his motivations to hide the golden time turner. The two emerged as friends—there’s really no turning back after an experience like this—and finally completing the handshake thirty years in the making: 

> **_“DRACO looks up at HARRY, and for the first time — at the bottom of this dreadful pit — they look at each other as friends.”_ **

****

**_~.~_ **

What I find also interesting—and lovely—about HPatCC was that it showed the Malfoys being far better at meeting these messier, murkier struggles within than the Potters. They were, arguably, as brave if not braver when it came to facing themselves and the objective reality around them. This quote from Harry, perhaps, offered some insight as to why it was: 

> **“But I don’t need to read it — I’m out there, hearing about it.”**
> 
> **—Harry, referring to the movement of Dark creatures**

But certain things demanded to be read. Like minds, for example. Like perspectives from those out of earshot, the summation of which create the objective reality. The Potters excelled in action and their great qualities were very much associated with it. Harry was very observant, highly intelligent when it came to understanding and quickly devising a course of action. His bravery in the face of extreme adversity had justified his occasional recklessness (like sneaking into Hogsmeade in his 3rd year) in the books, which had also made him more fun and endearing to the readers. Albus was impressive on that front too for his age, from knowing to jump into an aqueduct to “soft-land” a possibly bad Cushioning charm to coming up with the ingenious plan using the blanket. But without a lurking Voldemort, his bravery suddenly appeared much more like stupidity—even to his own dad. Circumstances had made the father the “hero” and the son the “loser” even when their personalities and strengths were so alike, and it was heart-breaking to see, via Albus, how the same “hero qualities”—Albus’ seating with Scorpius in the train was the same quiet heroism that motivated Harry to play Exploding Snap with Ginny— counted for little when they had no Darkness in the world to shine upon. Instead, the quiet, post-war Light had brought a Potter weakness to full view: introspection was, to put it mildly, not their forte. While Harry’s past affected him greatly, his past alone could not explain the whole of him and the mistakes he made with Albus. The Potter’s lack of practice in deciphering the depths of their own minds—be it from a lack of drive or patience or both—meant they’d have trouble deciphering other minds and that’s where, I’d imagine, the trouble between Harry and Albus began. Albus couldn’t see much, if at all, through his dad’s eyes; the big fight about the blanket made that clear as day (and honestly, I would have lost it way, way before Harry did). His subjective reality—that his dad was superhuman who couldn’t possibly find like himself worthy of love—blinded him. But Harry wasn’t faring much better either, whether it was seeing through himself or his son, even when his temper’s in check. The play showed him dealing with his own wounds with a mental distance, a calm carelessness that could explain why Albus failed to see his dad as more than Everyone’s Hero: 

> **_“HARRY checks his face in the mirror. He dabs at the wound with his robes._ **
> 
> **Don’t worry, it’ll go with the scar.”**
> 
> **—Harry**

But his wounds were worth a worry; his past was still painful enough to give him nightmares. Harry wasn’t putting up a brave facade either. He was, simply, never good at healing spells—I’d imagine that was true for both physical and mental ones—and just let his wounds deepen and his scars multiply. His missing communication with the depths of his own psyche extended to his trouble communicating with Albus. He talked about himself when he shouldn’t (“I always loved packing. It meant I was leaving Privet Drive and going back to Hogwarts. Which was … well, I know you don’t love it but..”). He missed the opportunities to explain himself, to reveal himself as only human with fears and worries, when he got them (“you really scared her … And me.” “Really scared you?” “Yes.” “I thought Harry Potter wasn’t afraid of anything?” “Is that how I make you feel?”). It was only in the very final scene that he barely caught himself from doing the former and began to fix the latter, while making hiccups that were both so endearing and heart-wrenching to watch. And it wasn’t for the lack of effort, he’d been trying so hard way before he promised to. It’s just that he needed to dive deep within himself and Albus but he had always been a man who charged outward. Under the sunlit skies, Harry Potter was a big, beautiful mess, needing redemption constantly from his bigger, more beautiful heart.

 

Meanwhile, the Malfoys, the family Scorpius said in the Dark Alternative Reality #2 that could always be relied on to “make the world a murkier place”, shone in HPatCC. Could it be that in the world of Light shadows showed up better? 

> **“Because I don’t think Voldemort is capable of having a kind son — and you’re kind, Scorpius. To the depths of your belly, to the tips of your fingers.”**
> 
> **—Albus**

There’s no such thing as a perfect friend, but Scorpius came about as close to it for Albus as it was (fictional) humanly possible. The objective reality that he, a Malfoy, had such a keen eyesight for—in which his family was persona-non-grata and losers—gave birth to a resignation that shouldn’t belong to a child. Under the “a-quivering geekiness” was an old soul who understood the world a little too well for his age, who learned, a little too fast, that no one was really interested in sob stories—no one including his best friend Albus. He held the larger share of the mind and the heart for the pair (Albus had the hand, of course), but he lacked the self-love/respect to vocalize the same confidence shown by Hermione in what he knew and what he believed was the right thing to do. He also lacked Ron’s built-in security of having a complete, loving family. As a result, Scorpius acted almost timidly at times, and followed Albus along because he placed their friendship above everything else:

> **“All I ever wanted to do was go to Hogwarts and have a mate to get up to mayhem with. Just like Harry Potter. And I got his son. How crazily fortunate is that.”**
> 
> **—Scorpius**

But his strength was far more than what the objective reality dictated him to own. The only time he fought Albus was when Albus insulted their friendship. Pinned to the floor and stung by Albus’ terrible words, he still managed to hit the nail right in the head and call Albus out with a clear explanation on why Albus had failed him as a friend. Scorpius was not a defanged Malfoy; this cinnamon roll could too turn grenade if necessary and he showed what he was capable of in Dark Alternate Reality #2. He was cool-headed, logical, and above all, brave—he shone in his confrontation with his dad, insisting on reminding Draco the goodness within him. He knew the right choice and never wavered; he befriended Albus not because there’d been no other choice for him, that they’re both losers, but because he knew Albus was right for him. He genuinely loved his friend, warts and all, to the point that he would put himself in danger and go on Albus’s quests even if he didn’t necessarily believe the quests were at all necessary or justified. He was very much a Ron in that sense but adding on to that, he never even gave away an impression that he’d pulled into things against his wish. He went through everyday like he was the crazily fortunate one who had Albus for a friend. Only a heart of pure gold could offer this level of consideration for another person.

And Albus was worthy of him. Albus, with his strong, potteresque subjective reality in which anything was possible, was the catalyst for Scorpius unleashing his own strength, for his defying the objective reality that had caged him. Meanwhile, when Albus’ Potter temper got the best of him Scorpius was able to see through that, perceptive as he was, and entrusted his heart of gold in Albus’ big, beating one, and let his wariness of the world lifted away by the same hands that Harry Potter, the legendary hero, would need too at the most heartbreaking moment in the story: 

> **_“ALBUS takes his hand. HARRY grasps hold of it. He needs it.”_  
>  **

 

That’d be no Scorpius, of course, without the other heart of gold in HPatCC that would likely remain a legend in the HP world—the heart of Astoria Malfoy. We saw her heart through Scorpius, and we saw its power through Draco.

The Draco in Alternate Reality #2 was largely the Draco from the books: lacking the courage to break away, his heart and soul resigned to scraping by in Darkness. Yet, as in every Alternate Reality presented, the love characters had for one another didn’t change (even if the relationships might) and Astoria had also, undoubtedly, lit a fire in this Draco’s heart. He’d learned to recognize the Light through her and her name remained sacred to him (“Do not use her name in vain”). She was like an angel who’d touched upon him once, and when he found that Scorpius had more of her in him than he’d thought, he gave his blessings to Scorpius to do “whatever you’re doing”. He had faith that the Astoria in Scorpius would guide him to the right path. A faith like this could only come from the strongest, deepest love. In the actual reality (and Alternative Reality #1), this faith was also strong—Draco never seemed too angry with Scorpius—and what was more striking was how candid Draco was about his struggles as his younger self and as a widowed father to his son. Perhaps, what Astoria had succeeded to do was to open the compartments Draco had been so good at making—the compartments locking up his compassion, his emotions, his pity. She’d freed them, let Draco see the whole of himself in light and when he wanted to shut them out again—it’d been his habit and his protection for so long—she reminded him and Scorpius that these qualities were always there, hidden or not.

And perhaps then, with Astoria gone, Draco wanted more people to see him with his exposed compartments, his opened heart—not to persuade the world that he’d turned good, but to force himself to learn to live without closed compartments. He was trying so hard too, for his Scorpius. A closed heart, while safe, only drew more suspicion for a Malfoy, and he didn’t want any more suspicion around his son:

> **“I will always be suspected. There is no escaping the past. I never realized, though, that by hiding him away from this gossiping, judgmental world, I ensured that my son would emerge shrouded in worse suspicion than I ever endured.”**
> 
> **—Draco**

One day, hopefully, we would learn more about the role Draco had played in his son’s upbringing, more of the Light within him. It had to be significant, with Astoria being so ill for years; the Light would have had become his own. Certain traits had evidently passed on from father to son. A logical mind, for example, and in Draco’s words, precision. Draco was able to quickly list the risks and concerns in Godric’s Hollow. Scorpius gave a spot-on rebuttal to the necessity of realization of prophecies while under tremendous pressure. The distance between Draco and Scorpius was maybe, as Harry put it so bluntly, because parents weren’t supposed to understand a teenager’s head. Or maybe—and this is what I’d like to believe—it was the grief felt by both the father and the son, so tremendous that it couldn’t be articulated and what they needed was the power of touch, so effortlessly demonstrated by the Potters (and the Granger-Weasleys) with their hugs. After all, a simple embrace, a tightly held hand could speak a million words between wide open hearts, and no Potter or Malfoy in HPatCC was short of that.

****

> **_“SCORPIUS looks at his dad, unsure for a moment. And then they sort of half hug in a very awkward way. DRACO smiles.”_ **
> 
> **_“ALBUS runs and throws himself into GINNY’s arms. GINNY receives him, delighted.”_ **
> 
> **“When Rose came up to me today in Potions and called me Bread Head I almost hugged her. No, there’s no almost about it, I actually tried to hug her, and then she kicked me in the shin.”**
> 
> **—Scorpius**


End file.
